The Mage War
by Cristokos
Summary: Mannimarco, the King of Worms, has launched his war of revenge against the Mage's Guild of Cyrodiil. Thousands are dying, and the Empire is powerless to combat this threat. Has Fate chosen a young Altmer to be the champoin of the Mages...?


**Author's Note: **This story is essentially an altered and dramatized version of the Mage's Guild questline for Oblivion. As much as I love that game, that questline irritated me a bit. It was...lacking in some dramatic effects and details, which may just be a result of how the game works. For one, the Guildhall in Bruma is destroyed and never rebuilt. It keeps burning forever, and no one in Bruma seems to care! For two, the actual conflicts between the Mages and the Necromancers and few and small-scale. There is the disaster at Bruma and the ten person battle at Silorn. Aside from those two battles, your character is the one who does all of the fighting and single handedly defeats the entire Cult of Worms.

That being said, I still love that game. :D

Because I actually do love the storyline of the Mage's Guild questline (though its implementation was a bit weak, but I am not a game developer, so I don't know the difficulties involved...), I decided to write a story based on it. However, I have decided to omit the Oblivion Crisis for a number of reasons.

The first reason is that it allows me to broaden the scope of the war by making the war, rather than the Daedric invasion, the central issue facing Cyrodiil at the end of the Third Era. The second reason is that it reduces the predictability of the story. There is no way I am going to follow the questline exactly now that I've taken out the Oblivion Crisis. I will have to broaden and expand on it. The third reason is that it simple feels _right _with this story. So, I suppose this story is considered a bit...AU? Perhaps very AU. 

I would appreciate any feedback, especially **constructive **criticism. I know there are weaknesses in this prologue. Feel free to comment on them and offer any advice you have. But I do like to also recieve encouragement and such. :P

Oh, and a last note. If you've played Oblivion, you will notice that the rooms and places I describe in the story may not match up exactly to their game counterparts. The discrepancies exist because for one primary reason. Oblivion could not possibly render a world that would contain a realistic population. There are probably 1,000 NPCs in the game. Cyrodiil, if it actually existed, would have a population of at least several hundred thousand, but likely several million. The Arcane University would be bigger than a few small buildings and a four room tower. There will thus be rooms I might use or describe that you won't find in the game world. Traven's study, used in this prologue, is the first such room. I used it primarily because I wanted to have Traven stare off at White Gold Tower...but his bedroom lacks windows.

Well, enough explanations. Enjoy!  
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"_Perhaps the most inspiring and yet most dreadful moment in my life came as I ascended the large, forested hills south of Bruma on my investigation of several Ayleid ruins in that part of Cyrodiil. When I sat down to rest for a brief time, I caught sight of White Gold Tower. I had known, of course, that it was visible for a vast distance from the capital, but to see it when I was alone, perhaps fifty miles away, in the middle of an ancient ruin! Ah! How inspiring to see the glory of Tamriel shining even in this wilderness! And how haunting to realize that I could never escape the eye of the Empire!"  
__  
Arsinius Vadil, member of the Council of Mages._

_188th Year of the Third Era_

**The Arcane University, Rain's Hand 17, 3E432**

White Gold Tower basked in the glow of Magnus, as it had for several thousands of years since the heyday of Ayleid civilization, when it was the center of the ancient city of Nibenay. Nibenay, the ancient "capital" of Ayleid Cyrodiil, was no more. It had been sacked, crumbled into ruin, and a new city had been founded over its remains. The city's sackers had died. Their empire eventually disintegrated. Tamriel came largely under the rule of an Akaviri lord. That nation, too, fell into disarray and was replaced by the human Septim Dynasty. Four centuries passed, and peace reigned…for the most part. And yet, through the millennia, the Tower stood. It had outlasted its ancient makers, and all of its conquerors. It stood, calmly reflecting the glow of Magnus as it had on every sunny day for over two and a half thousand years.

During such moments, when he had the time and inclination to observe the Tower, Arch-Mage Hannibal Traven was prone to letting out one long, ponderous sigh and wishing that he could simply speak to the ancient monolith. What ancient secrets could the tower reveal? What truths that history had obscured? Or perhaps the Tower wasn't interested in the world of men and elves? Perhaps it was far too old to take any notice of the workings of the short lived mortals who clustered around it. It might let centuries slip by without any notice.

Traven sighed and unfocused his gaze from the Tower. He looked over the Imperial City as a whole. It was a sprawling metropolis of several hundred thousand people constructed in a ring around the Tower that glowed orange in the blazing dusk that flooded both the city and Traven's office. The ring was divided into sections that formed the city's districts. The districts were really like cities in themselves, though they all had a distinct purpose in the city as a whole. It was thus difficult to think of the Imperial City as one city. It seemed to be more akin to a collection of cities centered around the Tower.

And since antiquity, this ringed collection of disparate settlements had served as the center of the nation of Tamriel. And the Arcane University was, at once, a part of it and separate from it, as magisters were at once a part of Imperial society and separate from it.

"Arch-Mage?"

Traven was not easily surprised, and so he did not jump as another might have. Instead, he merely turned himself to face the newcomer with a calm gaze.

"Yes, Raminus?"

Raminus Polus' face was cast in the optimistic glow it usually maintained. The olive-skinned Imperial was one of the few truly happy people that Traven had ever been acquainted with, and probably the only cheerful mage he knew. Well, Tar-Meena could be considered happy, as long as she was in the Mystic Archives, and as long as no one was damaging her books.

"I have it with me, Arch-Mage. All it needs is your signature."

Traven took hold of the precious parchment Raminus held in his extended hand. With care, he undid the crimson ribbon that tied it into a roll and let it fall to its length. He held it before him as he slowly mouthed the words he had waited for ages to see on paper.

"Be it stated that by order of Hannibal Traven, Supreme Arch-Magister, the Guardian of the Arcane Arts, and the Flame of Cyrodiil, and in agreement with the Council of Mages, that the black and vicious arts of Necromancy be forever banned from use by any member of the Mages Guild of Cyrodiil. Be it also stated that the Guild shall never have dealings with any such person who makes use of these foul arts, or damns themselves with the title "Necromancer". Be it stated that any member of the Mages Guild of Cyrodiil who is found guilty of use of necromantic arts or of association with necromancers shall be immediately expelled from the Mages Guild of Cyrodiil, with no chance for re-entry. This ruling shall take effect immediately upon receiving the signature of the Arch-Mage."

Traven smiled as he felt the ecstasy of triumph flow through his veins. He had spent nearly a year in bitter conflict with many members of the Council. He had fought for this, given so much of his energies to it ever since he had taken the mantle of the Arch-Mage. It had taken the rallying of every ally from every guildhall he could possibly find. And finally, the battle was done. The dust was clearing, and righteousness was seen to be victorious.

Traven carried the parchment to his desk and carefully laid it out. He brushed aside the half-empty inkwell at his desk in favor a new, unused one. He reached into his desk and selected a virgin quill. Dabbing the quill into the inkwell, he slowly flourished his signature upon the sacred parchment.

_Hannibal Traven._

When he had finished, he let a whispering sigh. With that signature, it was complete. He had finally defeated the darkness of necromancy.

He and Raminus waited for the ink to dry. When sufficient time had passed, Traven carefully rolled the parchment back up and tied it with the ribbon. He handed the order to Raminus with firm decision.

"It is done."

Raminus took the newly enacted law into his hands with unnoticeable finality. His cheerful demeanor had, for once, faded, to be replaced with a countenance of grim anticipation. Traven, normally skilled in detecting emotional shifts in his peers, was too absorbed in the silent thrill of his victory to notice the change. 

Raminus was perplexed by the sudden swell of negative feeling in his breast. He had supported this measure and stood as a staunch ally of Traven throughout the entire legal war that had ensued after the Arch Mage's announcement of his intent to ban necromancy. He had wanted this. He had truly wanted this.

Then why could he not shake the feeling that he had just signed away thousands of lives to be obliterated?


End file.
